Classical Conditioninghttps://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com
Let's talk about classical musicSun, 07 Jan 2018 02:46:04 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://s2.wp.com/i/buttonw-com.pngClassical Conditioninghttps://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com
Dissenthttps://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2017/08/12/dissent/
https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2017/08/12/dissent/#respondSun, 13 Aug 2017 00:27:33 +0000http://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/?p=3545Continue reading →]]>On August 3, the Kennedy Center announced the recipients of the 2017 Kennedy Center Honors. The KC Honors are one of the most prestigious artistic prizes in the world, with past recipients ranging from Martha Graham and Tennessee Williams, to Johnny Carson and Georg Solti, to Martha Argerich and the Eagles. Since the award’s inception, the Honors have recognized the lives and work of artists across cultures and disciplines; the only criterion holds that recipients must have made “lifetime contributions to American culture through the performing arts — whether in music, dance, theater, opera, motion pictures, or television,” according to the Kennedy Center’s 2017 press release. Recipients are honored each year in a reception at the White House, followed by a televised gala during which they are seated alongside the President and First Lady.

To claim that the Kennedy Center Honors have ever been anything but political would be naive. Art is political in its mere existence, be it free from censorship, in defiance of censorship, or in collusion with it. That’s not exactly a revelation. But the Kennedy Center’s very existence is political, given its role as the United States’ national performing arts center, a federally funded “living memorial” to JFK. That art and culture could — in fact, should — contribute to an American nationalism was one of President Kennedy’s recurring talking points. In a 1963 speech at Amherst College, he said:

I look forward to an America which will reward achievement in the arts as we reward achievement in business or statecraft. I look forward to an America which will steadily raise the standards of artistic accomplishment and which will steadily enlarge cultural opportunities for all of our citizens. And I look forward to an America which commands respect throughout the world not only for its strength but for its civilization as well.

It is significant, then, that when the Honors are awarded in the Kennedy Center Opera House on December 3 of this year, the man seated in the President’s chair — the man who will welcome the Honorees into the White House, and sit beside them in the Opera House balcony — will be a man who has repeatedly criticized and silenced artists; threatened to slash federal arts funding; and systematically demeaned, harassed, and in some cases literally endangered people who are women, queer, immigrants, religious minorities, people with disabilities, and people of color — all of whom consume art or create it, and all of whom have without question contributed to American culture as much as any Kennedy Center Honoree.

Washington Post arts critic Philip Kennicott responded to the announcement of the Honorees with an opinion article titled “The Kennedy Center Honors abandons the arts for pop culture”. The gist: recent Kennedy Center Honorees represent a “troubling” trend away from the “traditional arts” (classical music, theatre, ballet) and into the realm of “a commercial entertainment culture that has no need of the Kennedy Center, or the honors that bear its name.”

“This year, not one violinist, pianist, conductor or orchestral composer was chosen,” Kennicott complains. “No one from the opera world is represented […] For a cultural center built around an opera house and symphony hall, it’s depressing that this year not one classical musician has made the list and that again, this year, none of the musicians who have made America a force in pioneering the early instruments movement were included.”

It’s depressing? I mean, I love historical performance as much as the next guy, but name one early music maven who has made “lifetime contributions to American culture” — to American culture, not to the culture exercised by a select few who happen to enjoy harpsichords.

Go on — name one. I’ll wait.

Because, as Honors selection committee member Cappy R. McGarr wrote in response to Kennicott’s article, grouping art and artists into categories of traditional versus commercial represents “a false dichotomy.” “Instead,” McGarr writes, “our selection reflects the richness of American contributions across the full spectrum of the arts.”

Who could dare put Katherine Dunham (1983 Honoree) in a box? Pete Seeger (1994)? Yo-Yo Ma (2011)? The Kennedy Center Honors, since their inception, have never attempted to draw a line between commercial and traditional arts, popular and Fine-with-a-capital-F. If Yo-Yo Ma had never soloed with a symphony orchestra, but instead were judged solely on his bluegrass stylings, should his artistry be deemed any lesser?

The fact is, the “corporate entertainment product” who were selected as this year’s Kennedy Center Honorees — selected, no less, by a panel that included, among others, “traditional” artists Julie Andrews, Yo-Yo Ma, and Twyla Tharp — represent genres that embrace audiences classical music has made minimal effort to welcome. And the instant we decide that a particular art form, or artist, or genre, is any less artful, legitimate, or meritorious of Institutional recognition than opera and piano and ballet — in that assessment, amid that fabricated dichotomy, we are exerting the same white supremacy as the legions who voted Donald Trump into office.

Elevating classical music as “traditional,” as better than, helps no one. Leave the Kennedy Center Honorees alone, and go make classical music that makes “lifetime contributions to American culture.” Make classical music important again.

Go on. I’ll wait.

UPDATE: August 25, 2017

On August 17, Honoree Carmen de Lavallade joined in the boycott of the Honors White House reception, telling the Washington Post, “In light of the socially divisive and morally caustic narrative that our current leadership is choosing to engage in, and in keeping with the principles that I and so many others have fought for, I will be declining the invitation to attend the reception at the White House.”

And, at the end of the day, we are comfortable. It’s hard to admit. But while people who are transgender or queer or people of color face wildly unjust and dangerous systems, I can quietly write a blog post about it, sip my chai latte, and stroll out the door without a care in the world. I can proclaim myself to be an ally and petition my senators not to repeal the ACA — but Trump is still president and peopleareliterallydying, and all I have to offer is an oboe and a bleeding-heart blog post.

As the Facebook rants deluge and the helplessness mounts, there’s a question that’s been haunting me. We’re musicians, my Facebook friends and I. We’ve dedicated decades and degrees to a craft that is highly competitive and woefully underfunded — there must be a reason for it. What can we do — music performers, composers, educators, administrators — what can we do to make the many terrible things that are happening, slightly less terrible?

A beautifully written call to action by queer trans non-binary Filipinx-American artist Angela Dumlao asks cisgender people to consider how to engage privilege with genuine, impactful allyship. “You likely won’t get Trump to stop being terrible,” they write. “But you can look in the mirror and be better.”

One of the questions for reflection on Dumlao’s list: “Do you intake media by trans people? TV? Books? Articles? Art? Music?”

For those of us in classical music, the answer is, Probably not. Programming and visibility of trans composers is virtually nonexistent in major concert halls — unsurprising, in a world where an opera house can program literally one work by a woman in an entire century and be applauded as “making progress” — while trans soloists have been systematically silenced and oppressed. “In the United States, once I came out as Sara, I couldn’t get bookings with the top orchestras anymore, nor would any university employ me,” trans pianist Sara Davis Buechner wrote in an article for the New York Times.

If you are a person who decides programming for an ensemble, or if you are a student choosing rep for an upcoming recital, consider programming music by a trans composer.

If you are in a position to commission a new work, seek out a trans collaborator. Make sure that commissions offer real, professional pay.

If you manage an ensemble, professionally or academically, make the dress code safe and inclusive. Avoid associating specific attire with different genders, and offer an all-black alternative to skirts and tuxes.

If you’re able, buy recordings and scores from trans composers and performers, rather than (legal) streaming or downloads.

If you perform with a trans collaborator, use their preferred pronoun. Print their name correctly in the concert program — even if it’s not the same name they enrolled with at school or provided on their W-9.

If you’re an audience member — and all of us are — actively seek out performances that include trans musicians and tell trans stories. Every seat filled for As One (which, I’m told, sold out) proved to Seattle Opera that it’s sustainable to program contemporary, marginalized narratives and artists without sacrificing ticket sales or community support.

Be intersectional: support trans musicians of color including Indigenous trans and two-spirit musicians, trans musicians with disabilities, genderqueer and non-binary musicians, and trans and queer artists of all religious and cultural backgrounds.

Avoid tokenism: don’t let programming a piece by a trans composer be a one-time thing. Engage frequently and genuinely with trans musical collaborators. Support, normalize, and listen. That is, after all, what musicians do best.

I have a lot of questions about what role classical music plays in society. Our field is inherently oppressive, definitionally — and proudly — tied to a centuries-old tradition. But if our community effortfully supports and amplifies artists who have been marginalized, there would be very real benefits: financial support for marginalized artists; representation and visibility; introducing audiences to diverse perspectives, that they may discover common ground with their neighbors; and introducing music students — children — to models of inclusivity, that they may discover in music a safe space for learning and expression.

To conclude: don’t pay attention to me. I’m just a cis person with opinions, and I’ll be the first to admit I’m still learning. Here are some writings by trans and non-binary classical musicians to get you started — and feel free to comment and suggest additions to this list:

And, to get the ball rolling: if you are a trans or non-binary composer who would like to write for oboe — or you know such a person — I’d like to commission you. Shoot an email to classicalconditioningblog@gmail.com. Let’s make some music.

The second article that got me in trouble was a review of Opera McGill‘s production of Alcinathis past Fall. The review, “Orientalism is no magic,” takes issue with the production’s use of yellowface — makeup, costumes, and set design appropriated from Asian cultures by white directors and designers, worn by white singers, and performed for the entertainment of a predominantly white audience.

Unlike the Don Giovanni interview, this article was 100% written by me, and I stand by it 100%. The review was a joint project meant to accompany “An open letter to Opera McGill” by Sarah Shin-Wong, a recording engineer who worked behind the scenes on the production, and whose perspective as a student of colour sheds vital light on why, exactly, the Alcina production was so infuriating:

Yellowface is when a non-Asian person wears makeup and/or costumes to look what they think is “Asian.” Thus, the entire 2016 principal cast of Alcina was performing yellowface.

It is offensive because essentially it is wearing ethnicities as a costume. It homogenizes, exotifies, and objectifies various Asian cultures and puts them under the umbrella of “Orientalism.” It dehumanizes Asian people and makes Asian cultures a superficial trend or aesthetic. In addition, it propagates inaccurate stereotypes and derogatory caricatures. It can be likened to blackface.

Sarah’s letter was written calmly, earnestly, and with intent to educate. My review, meanwhile, took a more…energized approach.

My language was unabashedly accusatory toward the production’s director — I mentioned his name 23 times throughout the article — because it was his “artistic vision” that drove the offensive decisions which Sarah so thoughtfully identified. His pre-performance lecture dismissed problematism in opera as nothing more than an unseemly yet unshakable relic of the art form’s past: “Opera is fraught with racism and sexism and all sorts of ‘-isms,’” he stated. “It’s part of history.”

My response wasn’t exactly a chill one:

[The director’s] attitude is not unique; the opera world is infamous for such passive dismissal of the problems inherent in its art. Therefore, it’s time [he] and his fellow opera directors get a stern talking-to: yes, racism and sexism and all the other “-isms” are part of history and part of opera; but what are you going to do about it?

Apparently, the answer to that question is: not much. Alcina was a cesspool of racist imagery: white singers in yellowface, appropriative costumes and Asian stereotypes concocted by white designers and directors.

Maybe I went a little too far with “cesspool.” But I still believe it was fair to place blame on the director’s shoulders. As a professor, tasked with preparing the next generation of operatic artists to enter the work force — and as an artist himself — he bears the responsibility to fully interrogate every dimension of his artistic decisions. What, exactly, did the use of yellowface add to the production — a “cool” aesthetic? A sense of mysticism, a hint of the exotic? Why are those factors so closely tied, in the eyes of the privileged, to Asian cultural artefacts? And what are some other ways to convey the opera’s setting — a magical island “East of India” — without resorting to stereotypes and appropriation?

Sarah’s letter pointed out the crux of the issue — the real, traumatic repercussions of cultural appropriation. She wrote:

It is not the details of what they were wearing or the actual plot that is problematic – it is the message that it is okay for Asians to be fetishized and dehumanized that is dangerous.

Perpetuating this already pervasive mentality harms Asian people living in Canada, who endure racist encounters and obstacles on a daily basis. This can translate to social realities ranging from verbal harassment to ones that involve physical assault. It can manifest in social inequality or workplace discrimination. As a person of colour (POC), I have experienced this and I am willing to bet that every POC you encounter will have more narratives than they can count concerning this.

Thirty-six music students — both POC and allies — co-signed a letter to the Dean, acknowledging the director’s right to artistic liberty, but highlighting the fine line between creative artistic liberty and offensive cultural appropriation. “As you are the Dean of the [Faculty of Music], we urge you to look into ways that can ensure something of this kind does not repeat itself, in pursuit of a more respectful and inclusive community,” the letter read.

Ultimately, that’s what this all has been about — the Alcina and Don Giovanni articles, accusations of racism and misogyny, the debate and dialogue and Internet firestorm. It’s all been about community. How can the art we make forge a strong, diverse, and engaged community in the concert hall? How can an artistic community — a student body, an opera company — build a space that is welcoming and safe for all art and artists? If Asian and Asian-Canadian students must watch their cultures be reduced to a monolithic stereotype on stage — as Sarah explained, to the point of possible endangerment — then “welcoming” and “safe” aren’t exactly on the table.

I was disappointed to have to review the production — which featured genuinely outstanding musicianship both on stage and in the orchestra pit — focusing not on the students’ successes, but rather on the faculty’s shortcomings. But even if I had written the review for a more centrist publication than the McGill Daily, the production stirred such frustration, discomfort, and genuine hurt in the student body, that it would have been impossible to write about anything else.

The director didn’t see it this way — and that’s okay. I made a cameo on his blog, described as a “younger [critic] shocked to find that opera contains historical elements of sexism and racism.” His blog post continues:

I liken [opera] purists to Evangelical Christians on the Right, or to Social Justice Warriors on the Left, or to the followers of Voldemort — his Death Eaters, in Rowling’s world. All see their versions of the world in black and white, in right and wrong, in oppressors and the oppressed. There is no room for imagination, for innovation, for change, or for freedom to express new ideas and old ideas.

He’s right — there are ideologies blinded by binaries, extreme worldviews blurred by past injustices or fear of difference. And those voices have every right to speak, and criticize, and question. And it’s at the artist’s discretion whether or not to hear those voices, take a step back, and learn about how their art has affected, inspired, offended or bewildered or moved those voices.

But the director’s assertion here misses the entire point. “There is no room […] for freedom to express new ideas and old ideas” — but there is! That’s exactly what we’re saying — me and Sarah and the thirty-six students who signed that letter — that there is endless room for exploration and growth, for new ideas to bloom and for old ideas to find new light. With infinite possibilities before us, why settle for offensive tropes? Why not seek alternatives, collaborate across perspectives, and build something new in this brilliant, bizarre, beautiful world of opera?

Integrity means standing by your principles — your thoughts, your work, your art — wholly and completely. And if your art crosses into territory that causes harm, sometimes the best way to stand by it is not to dig your heels in, but to guide your work to new beginnings. In the process, your art will flourish and grow — and you will, too.

This experience has helped me grow, and I hope it’s helped others. This isn’t the end of our dialogue. Let’s keep talking.

This is an open letter to anyone who has ever dismissed sexism in opera as an inherent product of the times. This is an open letter to anyone who’s ever stumbled upon criticism of racist practices in classical music, and done nothing but shrug, dismissing those criticisms as the ill-informed ramblings of a starry-eyed Social Justice Warrior.

This is an open letter to anyone who thinks that classical music shouldn’t be held to the same standards of critique, dialogue, and evolution as literally every other art form — who thinks that #OscarsSoWhite might apply in Hollywood, but certainly not in the concert hall.

This is an open letter to anyone who claims that calling Don Giovanni a rapist is a step too far. This is an open letter to anyone who thinks it doesn’t even matter what we call him, because in the end, it’s only an opera, and can’t we leave politics out of it?

No — no we can’t. Because opera is never only opera, and politics and art are inexorably linked. And if you happen to feel otherwise — well, this letter is for you.

I have recently found myself at the centre of a bona fide controversy. For the past year or so, I have been writing as an opera critic for the McGill Daily, and two of my recent articles caught some backlash.

The Daily is a publication specifically dedicated — and loudly so — to showcasing points of view that are often marginalized in mainstream journalism. It is a student-run publication, and it is indelibly, proudly, and purposefully left-leaning. The Daily makes no pretense suggesting otherwise.

I first began covering local opera for The Daily as a favour to my roommate, then-editor of the Culture section, who was disappointed to find no one picking up her lovingly curated list of classical pitches. My first few reviews were faltering: I hadn’t quite found my journalistic voice, and was struggling to view opera critically given the publication’s liberal proclivities.

In May, my roommate departed for a semester abroad in France, and a new editor took over. I pitched them another review: Opéra de Montréal’s world premiere of Les Feluettes. The opera, with music by Kevin March and libretto by Michel Marc Bouchard, recounted the tragic romance between two young men in early–20th-century Québec. It was, and remains, one of the most stunning musical performances I have ever seen.

The experience of writing “Love letters and prison fetters” made something click for me: the causes that I deeply believe in and care about, and the music that I so love and have dedicated my life to studying and performing — yet, music that so often contradicts the causes I care about — do not operate on separate planes. Being critical of a musical performance can — and should — go beyond an assessment of the music as it is presented on stage.

This is not new information: music and society are necessarily linked; all music — nay, all art — arises from the social conditions that surround it. But classical music poses a unique challenge: its sounds — symphonic, operatic — and its spaces — ornate concert halls, celebrated historic stages — are steeped in social conditions that have drastically changed since the genre’s first cornerstones were laid. Even music that is composed today often adheres to the standards set by the existing classical canon; and contemporary performances of music from the past might see Don Giovannis wearing fedoras instead of tricornes — but does a change of costume or scene really interrogate how that opera, that story, fits into the stories and struggles of those who listen? We can denote the Don’s abusive behaviours as problems of a distant past, and acknowledge that his evil deeds are, in fact, punished by the opera’s grim finale — but then, are these behaviours really so distant? One look at the 2016 U.S. presidential election, and it would seem the answer is a decided no.

It’s not about reading bleeding-heart political correctness into a work of art that is about as far removed from Bernie Sanders as from nineties ska. It’s about seeing the work of art as just that — a work of art — and making the effort to truly question how that art, its meaning and its message, has evolved along with the artists who perform it and the audiences who consume it.

Jordan was amazing to talk to. Kindhearted and charismatic, he humoured me as I stumbled over my words, and answered every question thoroughly and thoughtfully. I was not an effective interviewer: awkward in most human interactions, and starstruck in this one, I lacked the experience and wherewithal to dig in for clarification and further responses. This backfired for one question in particular: I asked how he felt about Don Giovanni’s character — seen by some as a benign seducer and by others as a flat-out rapist — in light of the U.S. political climate.

His response, though thorough, was a dismissive one — inadvertently and with the best of intention, but dismissive nonetheless. He stated that “Giovanni is not an opera about sexual assault,” and that “to think of Giovanni as an immoral piece is to get lost in the details and not to see really what the totality of the message is […] Giovanni’s weapon is also not seduction as much as it is desire, and seduction as a byproduct of this desire.”

To understand why these statements might be read as dismissive, you may need to put aside what you know about Don Giovanniand its built-in narrative of punishment for wrongdoing. Instead, consider Don Giovanni in light of Brock Turner and Donald Trump. Consider Don Giovanni in light of music critic William Mann’s astounding analysis in his The Operas of Mozart: “It would have been beneficial to her [Donna Anna’s] personal growing-up if she had been pleasantly raped by Don Juan.” Just because the Don gets what he deserves when all is said and done, does not absolve the opera from participating in a culture — in 1787, and in 2016 — that repeatedly excuses and normalizes violence against women as nothing more than “seduction” and “desire,” and even elects its perpetrators to higher office.

To be clear: Jordan was not at all dismissive of sexual assault as a societal problem. Rather, he seemed to dismiss the opera’s place in a society that harbours this pervasive problem. Not everyone believes that this opera, any opera, or any art should bear any particular relation to the society it inhabits; but that is what I, personally, believe.

There were two reasons I did not push Jordan further on this question: my complete ineptitude as an interviewer, for which I take full responsibility; and the role of the interview itself as coming “from the horse’s mouth.” My intent was to publish Jordan’s responses uncut. Outside of this one question, he spoke glowingly about the strength and artistry of a young Canadian identity on stage, observed the differences in systems of public funding and private philanthropy for the arts in Europe versus North America, and recommended some of his favourite Lebanese restaurants in Montreal. His opinions on the morality or immorality of Don Giovanni could be interpreted by the readers as they saw fit.

However, the McGillDaily is what it is: a publication specially dedicated to showcasing marginalized points of view. It became clear to my editors — and to me — that the interview could not be published without offering The Daily’s particular brand of analysis.

The problem was, I had been planning to submit only a transcription of the interview. Writing an entire analysis by the same deadline simply wouldn’t fit into my schedule; I had an unfinished, thirty-page ethnomusicology paper overdue and begging for attention from the Microsoft Word tab that had become a frustratingly persistent mainstay of my Windows taskbar. So, one of my editors graciously jumped on board to share the workload. I wrote the first half of the article, covering Jordan’s early musical education and career, his interests in conducting both classical and contemporary repertoire, and his thoughts on the role of young people in opera. My editor Taylor took over the rest, and I did not have the opportunity to read the final product until it was published.

Well versed in navigating anti-oppressive language, Taylor produced an analysis that was thoughtfully reasoned. I agree with the content and the conclusions Taylor came to, but would have softened the tone had I written it myself, and would have distributed blame away from Jordan, placing it instead more broadly on opera as an industry. That said, I stand by the analysis, and am glad to share the byline with Taylor.

In the print version and initial online release, however, Taylor’s name wasn’t on the byline: it was just me. Which meant that when readers rushed to Jordan’s defense, I caught 100% of the flak.

I am not one to catch flak. I am shy and awkward and pathologically apologetic, and prefer dogs to humans 100% of the time. So as I watched the angry comments roll in, I felt frozen. Terrified. Even though I knew they were angry at words I myself hadn’t written, I found myself in tears as one Internet commenter questioned my “complete lack of intellectual integrity.” Another argued, “The idea that art must reflect modern progressive views, which are held by a small minority of Canadians and Americans by the way, is simply a childish belief.” My editors even received a letter from one of the opera’s cast members, requesting clarification as to why I had made Jordan out to be the villain in this narrative.

To Jordan de Souza: I am so, so sorry. You were nothing but kind, and I got you wrapped up in an op-ed firestorm.

But this is not an open letter to Jordan. His reputation will survive an unabashedly subjective article published in an openly opinionated, student-run newspaper. Rather, this is an open letter to everyone who read an unabashedly subjective article published in an openly opinionated, student-run newspaper, determined that its point of view differed from their own, and instead of offering a well reasoned counterpoint, condemned its “intellectual integrity.”

I spent so much time self-indulgently trying to separate myself from the article — or, at least, from the half I hadn’t written — and then I realized: that misses the point. It doesn’t matter whether I wrote it or not; regardless, I believe in it. Publishing the analysis didn’t show a lack of integrity; not publishing it, would have.

Integrity is often conflated with morality. If one has integrity, one does not automatically hold the key to humanity’s almighty moral compass. Rather, integrity comes from the Latin integro: to make whole. To complete. Integrity: having a set of principles, guided by your own moral compass — yours, no one else’s — and standing by those principles, wholly and completely.

I don’t know whether the analysis was the best one; it certainly wasn’t the only one — any dialogue offers myriad interpretations. But publishing it showed every ounce of integrity. I believe that, wholly and completely.

To be continued.

]]>https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/12/19/regarding-integrity-part-1/feed/1musicjg9Thoughts and Prayershttps://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/06/15/thoughts-and-prayers/
https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/06/15/thoughts-and-prayers/#respondThu, 16 Jun 2016 01:16:28 +0000http://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/?p=2188Continue reading →]]>On Sunday, June 12, a lone gunman entered Pulse, a gay nightclub in Orlando, Florida, and slaughtered 49 people, injuring 53 others. This marks the most fatal mass shooting by a single assailant in U.S. history (though even deadlier massacres against civilians have haunted this nation’s past).

The club was hosting “Latin Night” and spotlighting trans performers, so the shooting explicitly targeted not only the already-marginalized LGBTQ community, but also a marginalized ethnic community. Though the media has been frenziedly touting “radical Islam” as the shooter’s motive, there is no denying that the primary force that drove this tragedy — this invasion of a safe space for a community already disproportionately vulnerable to violence, homelessness, and suicide — was, above all, homophobia.

I’m heteroromantic, white, and cisgender, so I won’t use this platform to co-opt the LGBTQ and Latinx communities’ grief. That’s not what this post is about. Instead, I’m here to talk about classical music.

In the article, Metcalf talks about the trope of “thoughts and prayers,” words that are often expressed sincerely yet empty of intent or ability to take action:

I was struck this time by how many people, including President Barack Obama, made the point that they were so very weary of conveying their “thoughts and prayers” to the victims’ families and friends. The phrase is sincerely offered, of course, but increasingly seems inadequate to the task, particularly when we’re called upon to use it so often.

This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before.

The Bernstein quote has been widely circulated on my social media feeds ever since Sunday. The Orlando Philharmonic even posted it on their Facebook page. And I’m no less guilty, having shared it on Tumblr last night. As Metcalf writes, “It has become the classical music world’s automatic, default response.”

As musicians, it’s one of our favourite pieces of wisdom. It’s romantic and empowering, this notion that we — as artists, as musicians — uniquely hold some orphic power to imbue the world with beauty in times of trial.

In these cases and others, making music “more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly” served as an apt “reply to violence” — these acts of creation amid destruction, engaging directly or in solidarity with the affected communities to encourage compassion and nonviolence when facing a shared experience of fear and loss.

This will be our reply to violence… But there’s something a little too kumbaya about it, isn’t there? Let’s make music, hold hands and sing, curate something beautiful in a world that can too often be ugly — yet, such gestures remain, in many ways, apolitical. A free concert in Baltimore won’t end police violence against unarmed African-Americans. Yo Yo Ma’s performance at a church won’t curtail the politicized Islamophobia and institutionalized marginalization that drives radicalization. And a performance commemorating the Orlando victims won’t push commonsense gun legislation through Congress.

We can reply to violence, sure, but we can’t end it — so we’re left only with this poetic yet inadequate piece of slacktivism, a Bernstein quote in the form of a sleek graphic that we can Like, Comment, Share, but never truly engage with, as earnest yet ineffectual as an ever-ephemeral battalion of “thoughts and prayers.”

It’s not that classical musicians don’t want to “do something” — something with political impact, something that enacts tangible and widespread change. It’s that we feel like we can’t — like we’re stuck, voiceless, in the High Art machine. We earn our living in an industry that relies on WASP-y donors and audiences who might feel alienated by an orchestra of social activists. Forget the marginalized communities who are already alienated from our genre by factors ranging from tokenism to audience shaming to discriminatory hiring practices — without contributed income, our genre simply isn’t sustainable, and that fact is not lost on classical music administrators.

I…observed that while prominent musicians of other genres (hip hop, folk, jazz) were engaging with the Black Lives Matter movement, the classical music community at large remained silent….And, to be frank, I know exactly why none of these institutions are speaking out; they have donors and audiences they may be afraid of offending, and they may not necessarily have anything to gain from getting involved. But, while these institutions may be silent, as I did more asking around, I realized there were a great number of individuals within the classical music community who cared passionately about what was going on in the news and in their own cities, but they had no platform on which to speak out.

So how can we use our position as classical musicians to speak out? Metcalf offers one suggestion, a small and simple effort. Major classical music organizations such as the League of American Orchestras, Chamber Music America, and others would craft a statement on the issue of gun control:

“We deplore the growing gun violence in our country and we call on lawmakers at the local, state, and national levels to enact common-sense legislation that will make America safer for all of its citizens — including and especially our children.”

He goes on to propose that the coalition be curated by volunteers on a website and Facebook feed, and that a statement of support for the cause — The musicians of the Smallville Symphony Orchestra support Classical Musicians for Common Sense Gun Policy. To learn more, please visit [website and Facebook addresses] — be printed in concert programs around the country and perhaps even around the world. “I’m not naïve,” Metcalf writes. “This effort won’t decisively alter the national debate. But it would be a gesture, and maybe not a completely empty one.”

There’s that old adage, “Where words fail, music speaks” — but in this case, music can’t quite achieve what words can. Until a Symphony in the Key of Gun Control manages to swing Congressional votes, a succinct and visible statement as Metcalf proposes could go pretty far — stir some dialogue, pique some interest, and present the classical music community as one of cohesion and social engagement.

Because that’s the end goal, isn’t it? Impact. We want to impact an audience — emotionally, artistically — but that impact can’t exist in a vacuum. It doesn’t matter what we do — issue a statement, raise money for a cause, stage an outright protest — as long as we recognize the need to do something. As long as we recognize that, sometimes — in a world where 49 people can die for no reason other than being who they are — music for music’s sake just isn’t enough.

Classical musicians have a very particular set of skills: we know how to play the harp and the trumpet, how to make bassoon reeds, how to sight-read a symphony, how to follow a conductor. But how can we use those skills to contribute and enact change beyond the concert hall?

Perhaps the greatest step we as classical musicians can take isn’t issuing a statement, or holding a fundraiser, or making music intensely and beautifully and devotedly. It’s this: turn the concert hall into a safe space. Foster an environment where everyone is welcome. Go perform at a mosque, a prison, a women’s shelter — a gay nightclub. Turn classical music into a mode of expression and collaboration that can be accessed, felt, and enjoyed without currents of bigotry and elitism. Make music, and make it for all.

Kumbaya enough for you?

There’s a long and complex conversation that needs to be had before classical music “for all” is a viable possibility. Racism, sexism, ableism, LGBTQ and religious discrimination are definitionally rampant in a field that prides itself on being connected to a centuries-old tradition. But the only way that conversation can begin to unfold is if classical musicians let their voices be heard.

Why even bother engaging classical music in social issues? What’s the point? In answer, I’ll offer this: when we talk of classical music “dying,” we don’t mean the literal cessation of an entire art form. We mean a loss of relevance — of connection — to the communities in which, but not for which, we make music. It’s this loss that is driving classical music’s purported death — a slump in ticket sales and a slew of financial crises — because who wants to buy tickets, if they don’t feel welcome? And why even bother making music, if it is only to be heard by a privileged set of ears, removed from the worries and dangers that face a forgotten audience beyond the walls of the concert hall?

Which is not to say that this is all about gaining a little extra ticket revenue from marginalized audiences. Rather, it’s something bigger: it’s time for the classical music community to truly interrogate what it means to be an artist in society, and examine our goals and responsibilities in this privileged and vital role. Why do we make music, and for whom?

When Bernstein penned his now-omnipresent words, they were not without context. The nation was grieving the sudden loss of its leader, and the “reply to violence” that Bernstein set forth was not a generic, go-to sound bite, but a genuine plea for action. I’ll leave you now with the full context of those words, courtesy of the Bernstein estate — and also with my own heartfelt, unironic, sickened and infuriated and devastated…thoughts and prayers.

My dear friends:

Last night the New York Philharmonic and I performed Mahler’s Second Symphony — The Resurrection — in tribute to the memory of our beloved late President. There were those who asked: Why the Resurrection Symphony, with its visionary concept of hope and triumph over worldly pain, instead of a Requiem, or the customary Funeral March from the Eroica? Why indeed? We played the Mahler symphony not only in terms of resurrection for the soul of one we love, but also for the resurrection of hope in all of us who mourn him. In spite of our shock, our shame, and our despair at the diminution of man that follows from this death, we must somehow gather strength for the increase of man, strength to go on striving for those goals he cherished. In mourning him, we must be worthy of him.

I know of no musician in this country who did not love John F. Kennedy. American artists have for three years looked to the White House with unaccustomed confidence and warmth. We loved him for the honor in which he held art, in which he held every creative impulse of the human mind, whether it was expressed in words, or notes, or paints, or mathematical symbols. This reverence for the life of the mind was apparent even in his last speech, which he was to have made a few hours after his death. He was to have said: “America’s leadership must be guided by learning and reason.” Learning and reason: precisely the two elements that were necessarily missing from the mind of anyone who could have fired that impossible bullet. Learning and reason: the two basic precepts of all Judaistic tradition, the twin sources from which every Jewish mind from Abraham and Moses to Freud and Einstein has drawn its living power. Learning and Reason: the motto we here tonight must continue to uphold with redoubled tenacity, and must continue, at any price, to make the basis of all our actions.

It is obvious that the grievous nature of our loss is immensely aggravated by the element of violence involved in it. And where does this violence spring from? From ignorance and hatred — the exact antonyms of Learning and Reason. Learning and Reason: those two words of John Kennedy’s were not uttered in time to save his own life; but every man can pick them up where they fell, and make them part of himself, the seed of that rational intelligence without which our world can no longer survive. This must be the mission of every man of goodwill: to insist, unflaggingly, at risk of becoming a repetitive bore, but to insist on the achievement of a world in which the mind will have triumphed over violence.

We musicians, like everyone else, are numb with sorrow at this murder, and with rage at the senselessness of the crime. But this sorrow and rage will not inflame us to seek retribution; rather they will inflame our art. Our music will never again be quite the same. This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before. And with each note we will honor the spirit of John Kennedy, commemorate his courage, and reaffirm his faith in the Triumph of the Mind.

*The initialism LGBTQ throughout this post is meant to be inclusive of individuals who identify as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual, two-spirit, non-binary or gender non-conforming, or have otherwise experienced discrimination or oppression on the basis of their gender identity or sexual orientation.

**The word kumbaya is appropriative and problematic, originating in the ethnographic and exoticized collection of Gullah creole spirituals which themselves arose in the traumatic context of slavery. Its use here recalls the word’s place in contemporary pop culture, and is not meant to offend.

]]>https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/03/06/classical-music-round-up-january-through-march-2016/feed/0musicjg905maestra-master675-v2Normal People Listen: Bonnie listens to Mendelssohnhttps://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/01/07/normal-people-listen-bonnie-listens-to-mendelssohn/
https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/01/07/normal-people-listen-bonnie-listens-to-mendelssohn/#commentsThu, 07 Jan 2016 21:30:00 +0000http://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/?p=1989Continue reading →]]>It’s time for another installment of Normal People Listen to Classical Music! In which real humans who don’t usually listen to classical music share their thoughts after listening to a classical piece.

Name: Bonnie

Age: 20

Hometown: McLean, VA

Interests: Short walks to the refrigerator, long walks on the beach, and spending time with friends in comedy clubs

I’d like to say I’m not a COMPLETE novice when it comes to music. I took a music appreciation and a music theory course when I was in high school. However, both classes ended up consisting of listening to Pachelbel’s Canon in D over and over and over to the point where my notebooks became filled with angry puns like “Taco Bells Canon” and “Pachelbel’s Canon needs to be a canOFF.” (Heads up, if you hate puns, leave now.) Needless to say, “music appreciation” didn’t really leave me appreciating music all that much, and as I continued on down the path of life, classical music left me feeling more lost than a Malaysian aircraft. (Is that joke still relevant?)

Then, this past summer a beautiful thing happened to me and I began an internship at The Kennedy Center where I was exposed to more art and music than I could have ever imagined. By the end of the summer I would even say that classical music was alleGROWing on me, so when my friend Carly asked if I would guest write a review for her blog I jumped at the chance, and then took 3 months to actually write the review because balancing 2 comedy groups, several theatrical productions, a career as a stand-up comedian, work, and school is hard…Who sleeps? Anyways, now that you know that classical music isn’t really my FORTE, but puns are, I feel like we can get into the actual review.

The video begins by showcasing the venue, Powerhouse Arena, which appears to be a bookstore and performance space all wrapped into one, or in other words: heaven on earth! I mean, books and art are two great things that go great together, its like milk & cookies, peanut butter & jelly, or cake & my face. The world needs more of these things.

Then, the video continues and we see the string quartet. I’m immediately sent into flashbacks from PachelHELL, and I remember one of my old notes that read “Obe! Violins never solved anything!” but I stuck it out, kept listening, and I wasn’t disappointed. The first notes of the song are super fitting for the arena, because they are a POWERHOUSE! I mean these guys just do not REST! If this song were to play as part of the soundtrack of someone’s life it would probably appear the moment after they accidentally touch someone’s butt while walking past them, and are forced to decide whether or not to acknowledge the situation by apologizing, because that is stressful stuff!

The song continues on to fluctuate between sections that feel calm and somber and other moments that feel angry and violent. In some ways it’s the musical equivalent of the mood swings I feel when someone tells me they’re voting for Trump. The song even ends on a both physically and metaphorically “plucky” moment similar to when I get up the courage to voice my opinions.

Final Thoughts: You leGATo listen to this. I also highly suggest watching the video, because the musician’s faces seem to express everything from “Oh no, we’re in TREBLE” to “Is the music drunk? Its SLURring everything,” and even “Does my instrument really smell like that?” I might even listen to it a few more times myself for good MEASURE.

]]>https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/01/07/normal-people-listen-bonnie-listens-to-mendelssohn/feed/1npltcmbonnienewnpltcmPierre Boulez: ‘Courage, innovation, creativity’https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/01/06/pierre-boulez-courage-innovation-creativity/
https://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/2016/01/06/pierre-boulez-courage-innovation-creativity/#respondWed, 06 Jan 2016 19:07:56 +0000http://classicalconditioning.wordpress.com/?p=1954Continue reading →]]>The incomparable maestro, whose compositions, texts, and interpretations sparked an entire era of musical boundary-breaking, passed away yesterday at the age of 90. France’s prime minister Manuel Valls paid tribute to Boulez’s “audace, innovation, créativité” — traits which defined not only the man and his works, but also the weird, wild, spellbinding world that we know as New Music, in which Boulez was a trailblazing pioneer.

Boulez’s passing comes a little over three years after that of Elliott Carter, another New Music legend. These two men were characters in my music history textbook, filling the final chapters — the late 20th and early 21st centuries — with their music, vibrant and vicious. The fact that their lives and deaths overlapped with my own lifetime makes me wonder: if their era has ended, what era has begun? In fifty years’ time, who will occupy the final chapters of my granddaughter’s music history textbook?

About the Composer:

Carlo Gesualdo(1566-1613) is classical music’s darkest villain, a man whose eerie music is matched by a chilling biography comprising adultery and gruesome homicide. From an early age, Gesualdo was enthralled by music, studying lute and forging relationships with local musical luminaries as a member of an elite accademia, or intellectual club. Sent as a child to train for the priesthood, Gesualdo watched as his older brother Luigi was designated heir to the Principality of Venosa in southern Italy. Luigi’s death in 1584, however, paved the way for Carlo’s ascension to power. In 1586, Don Carlo Gesualdo married his cousin, the mythically beautiful Donna Maria d’Avalos, with whom he had a son and who, not four years after their marriage, could be found with her throat slashed, drenched in blood, in the bed of her lover. The lover in question, the Duke of Andria, was murdered as well: the official who found the Duke’s body noted that his corpse was wearing “a woman’s nightdress with fringes at the bottom” and was “covered with blood and pierced with many wounds,” while “a bit of the brain had oozed out” of a gunshot wound to the head. As a prince, a man of great influence and — apparently — violent inclination, Gesualdo was never tried for his crimes; in fact, he fled town following the murders, leaving behind a bizarre legacy: a trail of lurid rumors that to this day inhabit Italian folklore; and dozens of musical compositions, sacred and secular, renowned for their twisted emotional intensity.

About the Piece:

The question that haunts Gesualdo’s musical legacy is this: was he a tormented genius whose inner turmoil came to life in the unusual, grating harmonies of his compositions — or, were his unusual, grating harmonies the result of mediocre musical talent, nonetheless thrust into the spotlight by the macabre glamour of his criminal record? Regardless of the answer, Gesualdo’s music is widely viewed as ahead of its time, pushing the notion of tonality across thresholds of conventionality that most Western composers wouldn’t dare toe until the turn of the 20th century. In Tenebræ factæ sunt, a selection from his set of liturgical works for Good Friday, six voices croon and cluster in stirring harmonies that progress through tightly adjacent chromatic lines. Though the pacing is calm — almost eerily so — the piece is marked by surprising shifts of mood, from despair to ecstasy, as the Latin text recounts the crucifixion.